Better Together
by ellamequiere
Summary: During the Napoleonic Wars, Russia, Prussia, and England discuss their new treaty.
1. Chapter 1

_AN: Ok, this story is divided into three parts: the first is gen; the second one is shippy, with some kissing and stuff; the third one has a little painplay. You can read however far you feel comfortable—the first one, or first two can be read separately. If you're brave- and old enough- you can follow the link on my profile to the original story. Enjoy!  
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"How many Coalitions is it now?" asked Prussia, lying on his back- in his boots- on England's bed. England's eyebrows twitched.

"Six," he said, glaring stonily.

"Holy shit, man, that's a lot of Coalitions." England breathed in and out, slowly, and found himself wondering if he _really_ needed the other nation's help. _Torgau_, said .part of his mind. _Jena-Auerstedt,_ said the other. He inhaled and exhaled again. Either way, said the most pragmatic part of his personality, he needed all the help he could get. Even if that help came in the form of- "Seriously, what have you been doing all this time? Hasn't it been like, a decade?"

"Two," said Russia, smiling sweetly.

England glared at the two of them. "_You_," he said, gesturing at Prussia, "have fought for _nineteen days_ in the last _fifteen years_. And _you_," he said, turning to Russia. "Don't even get me started on _you_. If you had have joined us back in '93, we wouldn't even _be_ in this situation."

Russia's smile didn't waver. "Oh? I didn't realize you were wanting so badly for the imperial troupes of Mother Russia."

England and Prussia shuddered in tandem. "Don't _do_ that, man," said Prussia. "It's creepy."

Russia looked confused. "What have I done?"

"You... don't _call_ yourself that, ok?"

"Call myself...?"

"'Mother Russia.'"

"I don't think I called myself Mother Russia."

England had his face in his hands. "You did," he said, muffled.

"Oh," said Russia, unrepentant.

"Anyway," said England. "Don't you two _dare_ intimate that I haven't been making every effort. Do you have any idea how much this war has cost me?"

"Oh yeah," said Prussia. "We know, you haven't gotten laid since '88." England spluttered.

"Oh?" said Russia, looking genuinely confused. "What about Amiens?"

England slammed his fist down. "_I have been at war nonstop since 1792-_"

"Amie-"

"Enough about Amiens! What were you two doing? Staying home and picking your noses!"

"I think he's getting mad," said Russia.

"Yeah, calm down, man."

And in the end, what else could he do? He buried his face in his hands. "I hate you both."

Prussia grinned at Russia. "Come on now, old man. We know you want us."

"I want your _support_. If there were anyone else..."

"It's cool," he said, putting his hands behind his head. "I don't mind being a replacement." Russia nodded, placidly. "We are so gonna kick ass."

England sighed, tired already from the battles they hadn't yet fought. He certainly, certainly hoped so.


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: Ok, shippiness ensues._

"So, are we going to screw or what?"

England sighed. It- well, it had been part of the arrangement. It wasn't unheard of, for sex to be an element of an alliance agreement; he thought fondly of the Treaty of Paris, and less so of the Union of the Crowns. He had even been involved with more than one nation at once in this sort of situation, although never more than four, much to France's derision. It was really just... he sighed. He didn't want to sleep with Russia. They'd been in bed before, of course- most of western Europe had, if not before the Nine Years' War, then definitely after- and while he found, upon examination, that his memories of Russia in bed were mostly positive, he... it was about the coat. He just couldn't bring himself to think of someone in a trench coat in a sexual way.

"Russia- Ivan." It was only polite to use human names in bed, really. "Would you, perhaps- would you take off your coat?"

The man smiled pleasantly, and complied. There was still something- something off. Ah. "And the scarf, if you don't mind."

A shadow crossed Russia's face, and it looked like he was about to argue, until Prussia interrupted. "Hey, you're gonna have to take it off anyway, man. I mean, I'm not watching you do him in that." Pouting- there was no other word for it- Russia removed the scarf.

Better. He was... he had a, ah- the physique wasn't bad. Even the face was alright, if one could discount the strange childishness of it. England recalled with a strange shiver how he'd felt cradled, safe, the last time Russia and he had been in bed. It was because of the man's height, he assured himself. Only the adolescent Germany could compete, and England- well, the boy was too young still, the nascent personification of a newly-developing sense of national identity. His appearance was the beginning of the end for Prussia, they all knew it, and that might have been another reason that England stayed away from him.

Prussia- England sighed. Loud, obnoxious, powerful Prussia. He'd lusted after him, in the beginning... so strong, so fast. Of course, the bird was a bit of a put-off, but no one was perfect, he was willing to overlook it (and how had the bird survived for so long, anyway? Was he, perhaps, replacing it periodically? A mystery.) But when he'd first slept with him, back when he was only a duchy, he'd discovered with dismay what most of Europe already knew: Prussia was selfish in bed. Every once in a while, something hard, fast, brutal- England coughed delicately at the thought- well, it had its charms. But that sort of thing gets tedious; he'd learned that from Scotland before Prussia had even earned his name. And frankly, with all the aches and pains plaguing his body from the long war, he wasn't really in the mood.

So when Prussia asked- crudely- "So, who goes first?" England felt, instead of vaguely and shamefully excited, simply tired.

He was relieved, if vaguely piqued, when Russia held out him arms to him, and said, "Together, yes?" He wasn't entirely sure what he meant, and that worried him- but in the nation's arms, he found himself relaxing infinitesimally, and cursed his weakness for large men.

Prussia seemed to share his uncertainty. "Together? That'd be gay." The other two stared at him. "Uh. Right. Anyway, uh-"

"Can we just get this over with?" England interrupted.

Russia smiled. "Yes, let's begin." Then he tilted England's face up, and kissed him.

England's brain stuttered to a halt. Kissing wasn't- it wasn't part of the routine. A little bit of touching, fine; a little unorthodox in this kind of situation, but fine. Kissing? No one kissed when they sealed alliances, except- but he hadn't been really allied with the man in so long, he barely remembered.

He wasn't sure, but he thought that Russia kissed very differently from France or Spain. Slowly, patiently, no teasing or teeth. He was sure he'd been kissed like this before, he just wasn't sure when. Tired and aching, he couldn't bring himself to miss France's electricity, Spain's energy. Even Prussia's snort of disgust couldn't dampen his- well, his enjoyment.

"Guys_,_ come on, that's gross."

England pulled away, and fixed him with a stare. "Simply because _some_ of us are finicky about our partners, we mustn't _all_ be squeamish prudes."

"Squeamish? _Prudes_?" England ignored Prussia's sputtering, and kissed the other man again. Some part of his brain was full of blustering denial, but the rest of him- the rest of him relaxed into the warmth, the feeling of security. No one in their right mind would let themselves think of Russia as safe, but he'd defeated France when no one else could. He'd smiled, peacefully, as he sentenced Moscow to burn. He might be a raging psychopath, but for now- for now, he was exactly was England needed.


	3. Chapter 3

"Guys. Come _on_. You can like kiss and stuff _after_ I'm gone."

England growled. "Can we get rid of him?"

"No, you cannot get rid of me! I promised my armies, just like he did. I totally get a piece of-"

"A fat lot of good your armies did me last time," spat England, irritated again by the whole situation.

As Prussia sputtered, Russia raised his arms, in what he clearly thought was a pacifying gesture. "Friends! We have agreed already. We will have a nice time-"

"_We_ will have a nice time, _he_ will-"

"_We_ will have a nice time," Russia repeated, loudly, "and then tomorrow we will go our separate ways and take care of little France."

England and Prussia glared daggers at each other, as Russia tugged England back towards him. "Ignore him, yes? He will come around." And just as England was about to relax, Russia grabbed a handful of his hair, and jerked his head back. "And then," he breathed, against his lips, "and then we will have a nice time, yes?"

England, with a bad case of sexual whiplash, panted, and Prussia exhaled loudly and recrossed his hands behind his head. "Now _that_ was hot."

"Yes, yes, we all know where _your_ interests lie," said England, voice strained. Russia kissed his way down his throat, and then bit, hard, right above his trachea. England gave a strangled yell, and said, "That'll bruise, you cretin!"

Russia looked up at him, and smiled happily. "Yes, it will bruise very nicely." England nearly shivered, aches forgotten. Big fingers grabbed the same spot, and twisted. England closed his eyes, breathing harder than he wanted to be. How could Russia know, about his- penchant- for this? He couldn't have been talking to France. Could he?

No matter how much he liked it, he wasn't just going to take it. He grabbed a handful of the other man's hair, and held as head still while he bit him back. Russia made a high, breathy noise, and Prussia let out a heartfelt "_Fuck_."

"And this doesn't bother you?" asked England, hand still in Russia's hair. Prussia shrugged, not looking away from the white-purple teethmarks in Russia's throat.

"He had it coming. Besides, it's not as girly as that freaky fag shit you were doing before." England let it go.

Russia made little needy noises, and tilted his head back. England wondered if, after all the messed up sex they'd had over the years, they didn't all have a little bit of a weakness for this. He thought of France again, and groaned. When he bit again, dragging his fingernails down the other man's neck, it wasn't Russia's gasp he was hearing.

He heard Prussia stand, and braced himself for the derisive, mood-shattering dig. It didn't come. Instead, the man moved behind him, and moved his hair out of the way, biting the back of his neck- also hard enough to bruise, England noted with displeasure, but the thought was near the back of his mind. Russia was bit his collarbone, and England choked back a moan. Then Prussia's hands were under his shirt, fingernails cruel against his chest, and Russia's teeth were in his neck, and God, he was going to have a lot of explaining to do when he met his boss the next day.

"See?" said Russia, happily, centimeters from England's skin. "It's much nicer together."


	4. Announcement!

Announcement!

Since there seems to be a little bit of confusion, let me say: This story _will not be continued _here, because it gets too graphic. The full version can be found at: ellamequiere dot livejournal dot com slash 3536 dot html.

Thanks for reading!


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